


Instead of a Dark Lord You Would Have a Queen, or, Baby Aragorn Totally Had a Cat Phase

by zopyrus



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 20:53:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zopyrus/pseuds/zopyrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the child Aragorn asks to learn more about the folkloric Tevildo, Prince of Cats, Elrond can’t help him much. But there are other famous cats in the histories of Middle-earth…</p>
            </blockquote>





	Instead of a Dark Lord You Would Have a Queen, or, Baby Aragorn Totally Had a Cat Phase

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Suzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Prince of Cats](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1324492) by [Suzelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzelle/pseuds/Suzelle). 



> Author's Notes: Thank you to Suzelle for the beta, and for inspiring this story!
> 
> B2MeM Prompt: In many parts of the world, autumn brings the start of the school year. Write about a character's education.

Elrond’s first impression of Arathorn’s wife, Gilraen, was that she was a grave young woman, straight out of some tragic lay about the Men of old. But Gilraen’s spirit burned too brightly to be quenched by early grief: and she threw herself into her new life with a determination that forced Elrond to rethink his assumptions almost immediately.

Gilraen was often reserved, yes, but so was Elrond; and Gilraen’s quiet grace only made her sudden bursts of good humor more enjoyable. She was full of stories from the lands her people guarded: strange, ridiculous tales, of dancing spoons and sea monsters that had never existed.

Gilraen was most free with such tales when she and Elrond were with her son. Estel seemed (at least for now) to have inherited none of Gilraen’s gravity, and all of her joy. So it was no surprise to Elrond when Estel marched into his Quenya lesson, cheerfully determined to told the words for “cat,” “fang,” and “sorcery.”

“Are you planning to translate the Tale of Tevildo into Quenya?” asked Elrond, indulgently.

Tevildo, Elrond had recently learned, was the name of a giant child-eating cat from somewhere near Bree. He was the villain of Gilraen’s latest outlandish bed-time story, and had made a big impression on young Estel.

“No,” said Estel. “I want to read it. Isn’t Tevildo an Elvish name?”

Elrond fought to keep the amusement out of his voice.

“I’m afraid the Elves know nothing of Tevildo,” he said, as gravely as possible. “You are right that his name fits our language phonetically—but it means nothing to me.”

Gilraen’s folktales did sometimes resemble incidents from ancient history: but so tangentially so that Elrond told himself it must be mere coincidence. In any case he was certain that the Tale of Tevildo had been made up of whole cloth.

Estel’s face fell; and Elrond suddenly felt much less self-satisfied about the superiority of Elvish history.

“Perhaps the Breelanders who made him—uh, who met him, had taken a few Elvish lessons, and wanted him to have a name that sounded fierce and powerful. But the morning is passing—auta i tuilë—and we had better learn those words you asked for! The word for ‘claw’ is rakka; and ‘cat’ is yaulë.”

Estel perked up at that.

“You really call them yauli?” he asked, in delight. “Like, because they yowl?”

“That’s a good way to remember it,” said Elrond.

“That’s weird,” said Estel.

The child looked more intrigued than dismissive, and Elrond hid a smile. A year ago, similar news would probably have reduced Estel to making cat noises; but the children of Men grew quickly, and that time was already behind them.

Elrond wrote down yaulë in all its declensions, and gave it to his foster-son to memorize.

At their next lesson, Elrond pulled out a sheet of paper he had copied carefully from one of Erestor’s rarest books. The original passage had been expurgated from Gondor’s Book of Kings; in fact, the library of Imladris probably possessed the only written account of this particular piece of history.

But there was no need to bore Estel with any of that.

“You already know the word for ‘cat’ from last time,” Elrond said. “And núlë, ‘sorcery.’ Do you remember your colors? Can you tell me silver, black, and white?”

“Telpë, morë and…um.” Estel rolled his eyes. “Which kind of white?”

“Whatever kinds you can remember.”

“Fána, fánë, ninquë, silma, lossë,” recited Estel, in a somewhat theatrical tone.

Elrond couldn’t blame him. The ancient linguists really had been out of control, sometimes.

“Did I forget any?”

“Indeed not.” Elrond handed the day’s lesson to Estel. “Please, read this tale to me.”

Estel’s eyes scanned over the page, and he bit his lip with concentration.

“The twelfth King of Gondor…had a wife…of the name Berúthiel. She hated all making, and all colors. Only black her dresses—um, her dresses were only black—and she wore necklaces of silver. And she learned the dark arts of sorcery. Her house was in Osgiliath, which she hated.”

Estel paused. “Does that mean she hated her house, or Osgiliath?”

He spoke the name of the city slowly, pronouncing each syllable with care—as though it were a stranger’s land, and not his birthright.

“Both,” said Elrond. “That’s a good start: keep going.”

Estel bent his dark head over the desk.

“She hated also the sea, and the…smell of the sea. She hates everything, Ada! She had nine black cats, and one white. They were her…spies, who she spoke with, or read their memories, and made them find out all the dark secrets that men wished to keep hidden. No man in Gondor dared to touch them, but cursed when they walked by. So the King put Berúthiel in a boat alone with the cats, and the cats sailed the ship past Umbar under a sickle moon, and disappeared forever.”

Elrond was impressed with Estel’s reading, which had grown more confident as he progressed; Estel, meanwhile, looked impressed with the story.

“Is this true, Ada? Was this woman a real queen?”

Elrond smiled, a little smugly.

“Everything I give you to read is true,” he said. “I am not sure about the cats sailing the ship: the witness for that might have been unreliable. But Queen Beruthiel was certainly real.”

“But she couldn’t really talk to cats,” said Estel. “Cats don’t—”

“Ask your mother how she manages to ride Sedilris so skillfully, without spur or bridle,” said Elrond, smoothly. “Speaking to animals is a tricky business—especially if the animal in question is contrary, or wishes to keep its mysteries to itself. But I assure you, it can be done, by my people and by yours.”

Estel’s eyes went wide with suspicion, and eagerness.

“Have you ever talked to a cat?”

Elrond wondered how much the cats of Imladris were going to hate him, if he accidentally inspired Estel to try and mind-read them all.

He was certain he didn’t want to find out.

“Of course I have talked to them,” he replied, carefully. “But no cat of my acquaintance has ever talked back.”

Estel thought about that, then asked:

“What happened to Berúthiel?”

“I don’t know.”

Berúthiel’s end was the only part of the story Elrond didn’t like. The poor woman had probably died alone, abandoned by Elrond’s own distant relative. Whatever unnamed evil the woman had caused, the manner of her death seemed needlessly cruel.

Elrond should probably not have told her story to his child.

“Maybe she sailed beyond the Sea,” said Estel, hopefully. “People do that all the time in stories—yours and Mama’s.”

Elrond blinked. That would be a better way to end the tale, although such a lucky chance was, of course, impossible. He felt a rush of unexpected fellow-feeling for the story-tellers in Breeland, who had made so free with the truth—all to please their children.

“Perhaps you are right,” he agreed. “If what I have heard is true, ten mildly telepathic cats would hardly be out of place, in Valinor.”

The noon-bell chimed: and the time allotted for Estel’s lesson was over. Elrond would try not to get quite so sidetracked tomorrow.

“May I ask you a question, Ada?” asked Estel, very sweetly, as he was packing up.

“Of course,” said Elrond.

“If Queen Berúthiel met Tevildo the Terrible, who do you think would win?”

Elrond laughed out loud at that.

“I fear they might join forces, and come after us all! But you will have to ask your mother, dear one. I am sure her answer will be much better than mine.”

Estel grinned at him, and ran outside to play.

**Author's Note:**

> Queen Berúthiel is first mentioned by Aragorn in Fellowship of the Ring, when he promises his companions that Gandalf is better at finding his way home than “one of the cats of Queen Berúthiel.” Unfinished Tales tells us more: she was childless, lonely, and apparently didn’t even like cats, but they liked her!
> 
> Tevildo the Terrible, of course, is the original villain from the tale of Beren and Lúthien. He eventually evolved out of giant cathood and became Sauron.
> 
> The passage Aragorn sight-translates was lifted, with some changes, from Unfinished Tales.


End file.
